


Daisies and Tulips

by Its_Raineing_Words



Series: Flower Language [1]
Category: Enola Holmes (2020), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awkward Crush, Awkwardness, Corsetry, Crushes, Enola finds both Sherlock and Watson boring as hell, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, I have decided that Tewks' first name is William, Idiots in Love, Language of Flowers, Long Shot, Love Confessions, Misunderstandings, Oblivious, One Shot, Romantic Friendship, Teen Crush, Teen Romance, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:50:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26730178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Its_Raineing_Words/pseuds/Its_Raineing_Words
Summary: Enola goes to a dinner party and encounters far more than she bargained for, who knew that daisies would be so important?
Relationships: Enola Holmes/Viscount "Tewky" Tewksbury
Series: Flower Language [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945444
Comments: 40
Kudos: 635





	Daisies and Tulips

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't uploaded anything in years, and in fact I haven't written anything in nearly as long. Enola Holmes, for whatever reason, happened to inspire me to action and I hope you enjoy it!

Enola grimaced as she tried to adjust the corset she was wearing into a semi-tolerable position. It really was beyond the pale that Sherlock insisted that she wear one, she had rather hoped that she had escaped the oppressive guiding hand of Mycroft but it seemed that he had managed to persuade Sherlock to take his side this time. 

She didn’t see what the issue was with the other dinner guests knowing that she was in possession of such things as a stomach, intestines and a liver. Enola sighed, one night shouldn’t be too bad and besides, Tewksbury would be there which meant that she had at least one ally even if Sherlock had defected to the other side. 

The time for the dinner had arrived all too quickly. One of Sherlock’s many distinguished benefactors of his great skills upon the matter of detection had invited him to dinner as thanks (not to mention a substantial fee) and as that benefactor was a man of some importance to the British government, Mycroft would also be there. Sherlock had taken Enola partially so she could not get into trouble at home and partially to infuriate Mycroft, if his little quirk of the lips when Mycroft sent a telegram almost begging him to leave her behind was anything to go by. Tewksbury was making the rounds through all the most important circles of London society and he had told her in his most recent letter how odd he found their new attitudes to him to be. 

_Last time I was in London, dear Enola, as a child following my uncle around as he did what I am doing now, they barely gave me the time of day. In fact, I got the distinct impression that I was not wanted there. I had overheard them many times saying that if only my uncle would remarry and produce an heir that they would support his claim above my own. I now realise that was most likely because even then they knew that my loyalties lay with my late father and that I would not be their puppet. What cheek now, then! To fawn over me and suggest matches with their own awful children in the name of ‘unity’ or ‘friendship’. I would not have any of them, not for the world. ___

Enola smiled to herself as she put the letter back into the little box where she kept all of their correspondence. At least she wouldn’t be the only one having a terrible time at this dinner. 

The time to be rushed into a hansom cab came sooner than she had wished and 221B Baker street soon faded from view. The house they arrived at was grand in the extreme, gaudy even, with a large garden and large windows all along the front of the house with velvet curtains drawn across them. 

Guests were walking up to the house, producing their invitations to presumably the butler and being admitted. They were all dressed in the most expensive and fashionable clothes that London could offer, it made her uncomfortable blue dress with daisies embroidered onto the neckline look common. Though she had been told it had cost more money than the rest of her wardrobe put together. Mycroft had bought it for her so that she would have something suitable to wear and the daisies, meaning innocence and purity, seemed like a jab on his part. Enola was no innocent lady who only kept to what was proper and decent.  
“Invitations please, sir,” the butler said to Sherlock and he wordlessly produced them.  
As they moved past the butler Sherlock whispered, “Gambling habit.”  
“Second marriage,” she replied, perking up slightly. She enjoyed these little deduction games that he sometimes consented to play with her.

They were ushered by various servants into a truly enormous drawing room. Bigger than the entirety of 221B, in fact, and bustling with people. It seemed that everyone had split up into groups based on their social status or profession. The bankers with the bankers, the military men with the military men and so on. It left her at a loss of where to put herself and as Sherlock had disappeared she couldn’t follow him around either. That left her with one option. Tewksbury. 

It was easy enough to find him, he was on the other side of the room surrounded by men ‘of importance’ as Mycroft would put it, looking bored to distraction. She walked over and when she was close enough for Tewksbury to have seen her and looked at the men and rolled her eyes, he smiled and nodded slightly. That was settled, then. He would meet her as soon as he could get away from them. While she waited she perused the bookshelves; you could tell a lot about a person from their bookshelves, Sherlock had taught her, though this particular example didn’t give her much to go on. Anthologies and almonacks, some poetry of both Greek and Latin variety, a dictionary and atlas. All pointed to the owner being boring, conventional and well educated, someone who liked to be up to date as he had only the most recent editions of all his books. In fact, none of them looked to be more than five years old, so not a sentimental man, then.  
“Enola,” a voice from behind her said, “I am so glad you’re here.”  
“And I you, Tewks!” she turned around to greet him with a smile, “How are you finding it?”  
“Being here?” He gestured to the room around them, she nodded, “Well, it reminds me of my childhood home. Lots of grandeur but no feeling, no warmth. And the conversation was most frightfully dull, you really should have come over and rescued me.”  
Enola laughed, “I rescue you all the time, time you learnt to rescue yourself.”  
“Not as long as I have you,” his eyes looked solidly into her own and she blushed fiercely. While she was the more confident of the two of them she found that he had the most peculiar ability to make her blush at the drop of a hat.  
“Well, you should start paying me for my services then,” she huffed, mimicking the clipped tones of her eldest brother.  
“I will keep that in mind…” Tewksbury, or rather William, said, looking down at her with his frustratingly deep brown eyes.  
She noticed his gaze slip downwards from her eyes and she balked and trod hard upon his foot.  
“Ouch!” he hissed, “What was that for?”  
“I may not be a lady per se but I am worthy of some respect and I will not stand for being eyed up like a piece of venison,” Enola glared up at him.  
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking...there. I-I was looking at the flowers on your dress.”  
That hardly calmed her down, “My attire is through no choice of my own. Mycroft is having a laugh at my expense, no doubt, by making me wear this. I suppose he is trying to not so subtly make a dig at my shortcomings.”  
Tweksbury, no, William as he was hardly in his official capacity at present, looked awfully disappointed. Almost like he might cry. His body seems to crumple a little bit under the pressure of the feeling.  
“What’s wrong?” She asked dumbly, truly not understanding what had affected him so.  
He straightened up, “Nothing, nothing at all. Excuse me, I think my mother wants me. I can see her waving to me,” and with that, he was gone.  
Enola could see no sign of his mother and so she knew that had been a thinly veiled excuse to leave. But what could have affected him so? He had been looking at the daisies embroidered onto her dress with some considerable interest and a blush had risen to his cheeks, she remembered it now as she played back the scene in her mind. He had been looking into her eyes, then looked down and then blushed. Unless he had been blushing because of her anatomy the flowers were the only reason, especially as he had mentioned them and, given that Mycroft had bought the dress, the neckline was almost matronly and certainly gave no lewd suggestions to even the most imaginative of observers. 

So the flowers had made him blush...but how? They meant purity and innocence, surely, in the old associations that were made with flowers hundreds of years ago. Hardly anything worth his blushes. Enola tried to come up with some sort of hypothesis but found herself unable to think of anything. She was distracted from her thoughts when suddenly a bell rang, drawing everyone’s attention.  
“Dinner is served, please make your way to the dining room. You will find a card with your name on it showing where you are to sit. Thank you,” it was that gambling, divorced and remarried butler. A small group of maids bustled in and went round collecting all of the drinks glasses that had been left all around the room as they made their way out. Enola tried to look for William but had no luck.

She and Sherlock were sitting next to each other, with Mycroft, attending the dinner because of his political connections and most likely to keep a stern watch over her, sitting on the opposite side of the table a few seats down. It was one of those long, thin tables that seemed to speak of extreme wealth and no desire to talk to their family given that they would sit on opposite sides during meal times alone. Conversation flew past her as everyone seemed to be thrilled to have Sherlock near them, everyone had their own questions and their own tests of his abilities.  
“Mr Holmes, I have kept quite up to date with all of your cases and I find that I am unable to reproduce your powers of observation!” One lady remarked, like it should have been easy but she merely did not know the trick of it. Which, Enola supposed, wasn’t entirely untrue, but also didn’t touch upon how you needed to have a very particular sort of mind to do such a thing.  
“Well,” he began, a speech in mind and one she had heard many times herself, “it is not about merely seeing but observing one's surroundings. Of being able to place inference upon inference so that where you end up is quite distinct from where you began. As my friend and biographer, Dr Watson has said many times, it is simple when it is explained and yet,” he paused, an actor with his audience spellbound, allowing the moment to draw long, “people are loathed to actually do it themselves. And so, it is left to me.”  
They all laughed but Enola caught the insult that they had either missed or politely ignored. Sherlock didn’t have a lot of respect for his fellow man, though he did certainly know how to charm them. 

The conversation moved on and Enola picked at her food, finding herself without an appetite. How ladies ate in corsets she would never know! They were far too restrictive for food to be anything other than a bother. As the first course was taken away and replaced by the second the conversation had moved on.  
“-I have found that the littlest things can be of importance in my cases. The marks on a man’s shoes, the position of a chair. And I also find that the easiest things can set one upon the wrong track. Take a case from my youth for example. I won’t go into details to save the blushes of my client, however, the case hinged upon a white rose. I and the poor client had at first taken it to mean true love, as that is the traditional symbolism of the flower and yet it has become a new fad for flowers to be given such symbolism and meaning that entire conversations can be had through bouquets. The flower to such people who follow such things communicates ‘I cannot’ which has a rather different meaning, you would surely agree. So as you can see, the smallest things can make the biggest impact upon a case.”  
Sherlock was still talking, he loved the sound of his own voice, though he would never admit it. But Enola heard nothing, only the blood rushing in her ears and her heart racing, she also felt slightly lightheaded though that could have been because of the corset. The daisies! She should have known, especially as that was her mother’s preferred method of communicating with her even now as she worked away under cover, trying to overthrow the government. But what did daisies mean? Her mother had never used them and as she didn’t use flower language in other areas of her life she had no reason to memorise it. Damn! If only she had her flower language book with her, but it was back in her room in 221B. 

Enola looked down the table to Tewksbury who was talking with some old gentleman who looked like the perfect picture of the establishment, a man who would get on well with Mycroft. She took an immediate dislike to him. She could see that she wasn’t the only one as William looked like he was about to wilt and fall under the table to escape. There would be no chance of speaking to him tonight and no chance of food either as the second course had been taken away. Enola saw a few ladies getting up and making their way out of the room saying they needed to powder their noses. Taking a leaf from their book she did the same and soon found herself alone in a corridor. She remembered the way out but that would require going back through the dining and drawing room which wasn’t possible.  
“But there’s a perfectly good window right there,” she muttered to herself, “I’m on the ground floor, it will be fine.”  
Opening the window a cold blast of air greeted her and goosebumps rose upon her skin, she had no shawl or jacket but she pressed on, climbing first onto the windowsill and then half diving, half crawling out of the window, she fell into a rose bush. Swearing quietly she sprang up and bolted for the gate which luckily was open. Enola ran until she could hail a hansom and she was back in 221B before the hour was through.  
“Hello, Mrs Hudson!” Enola greeted as she opened the door.  
“You’re back early, and where’s Sherlock?” she looked scandalised, “You’re covered in dirt too! What is going on?”  
“Nothing for you to worry about. But I would greatly appreciate a nice pot of tea, if you please. I’ll be in my room.”  
Mrs Hudson just nodded, not knowing what to say apparently.  
Bounding up the stairs Enola muttered “Where is it? Where is it? Where did I leave it? Oh, of course, in my bureau!”  
Once she had found the book in question _A Complete Guide To Flowers And How To Decipher Them _she grabbed it and fell upon the bed and she soon found what she was looking for.__

_Daisies, like most flowers, have both an ancient and modern meaning. For thousands of years these delicate flowers, favoured so much by children at play, have come to represent innocence, purity and hope. In the modern age of flower language, however, they have taken on an extra meaning. One favoured by young lovers all throughout our Queen’s beloved empire, that of true love, ‘I love you truly’ being the meaning ascribed to it though of course the phrasing does not need to be exact. ___

Enola stared in shock, her mind was racing and yet she could not pin a single thought down. Her heart raced as she was very glad that she was sitting down on her bed. She knew he had held some tender sentiment towards her in his heart at one point, though she had reasoned it as being because she had been exotic to him, not to mention his proverbial knight in shining armour. If the feelings persisted however...what did that mean? How did she feel about it? She found she didn’t know. It didn’t disgust her but then again the idea of being some high society lady filled her with dread, it would surely be an even tighter and more ironclad cage than she was currently in. But she didn’t think that he would expect her to change. She was getting ahead of herself and she knew it. The question was, what was she to do now? 

“Enola!” Sherlock yelled from the entrance to 221B, “Mycroft is furious with me for letting you escape and I won’t hear the end of it. I hope you have a good reason for your sudden departure.”  
She gingerly got up and left her room to see her brother, “The dinner was frightfully dull.”  
He rolled his eyes but nodded, “Indeed. However, it would benefit you to think about the reputation that you are gaining. It wouldn’t befit a budding detective to seem flighty, would it?”  
Enola couldn’t help but grin, “You think I’ll be able to do it?”  
“You’re a Holmes, of course.”  
She could tell that Sherlock knew more about her motivations than he was saying but since he wasn’t bringing it up neither would she. They had a cup of tea in silence before she went to bed and he stayed up late into the night and morning pouring over maps of Coventry for some case of his. 

The next morning Enola was filled with an immense enthusiasm and drive. Forgoing breakfast, she made her way to the nearest florist and bought a single red tulip. The shopkeeper gave her a knowing look and she blushed as she dashed back to 221B, she found that her whole being was positively thrumming with restless energy which was focused onto a single task. It was rather like when she was on a case. Enola flung herself onto the chair in front of her bureau and pulled out her watercolours and the fancy stationery paper that she had bought for herself on a whim, imagining that she would be penning fancy letters to potential clients, but in reality they had been sat, unused, in her draw for weeks now. No time like the present, she mused, and set to work.

While she wasn’t blessed with the truly astounding drawing and painting talents of her mother, she would produce a faithful likeness which was all that she really needed to do. As she painted, all the while paying close attention to the tulip that she had bought as a reference she found that it was turning into a charming picture. Enola almost wanted to keep it for herself, but no, it had a bigger mission to accomplish. 

Waiting for the paint to dry was the worst part of it as she didn’t want to waste any time. She ended up becoming so frustrated by how long it was taking that she stuck it on her windowsill in the hopes that it would dry faster, it was nearly midday after all. After the interminably long time that it took for her small effort into the world of art to dry she was excited to distraction but nerves had begun to take over.  
“I must send it! No! I must hide it, burn it, scatter the ashes in the Thames. But he has to see it, I have to try. Oh, damn! I must make a decision and stick to it one way or another,” as she muttered to herself she paced quickly back and forth across her room. Since it was so small she had to turn in such quick succession that she soon found herself feeling dizzy and she had to sit down upon the bed and calm down.  
Filled with a renewed sense of bravery and enthusiasm she stood up, “I must send it, come what may.”

With that, she was a flurry of motion again. Rummaging around in Sherlock’s things for an envelope and stamp, he would be angry when he found out (there was no way she could hide the evidence of her tampering from him) but she would simply have to deal with it. Having found what she was looking for she grabbed one of his far too fancy pens and wrote down the fateful address, of course, Enola being Enola, she managed to get ink all over her hand which combined with the paint certainly would make her look a mess if anyone was around to notice. 

There was a postbox at the end of the road and she put the envelope inside before she could change her mind again and rip it up. Her chest contracted most painfully once she had done so but there was no way that she could get it back without arousing suspicion and so it was left to capricious machinations of fate.

The rest of that day and well into the following morning passed in a blur for Enola. Not even the annoyance of her guardian and brother, Sherlock could pull her out of her thoughts. Her mood would bounce between delightfully ecstatic and horribly anxious, it had a most awful effect on the stomach and she begged to be spared from supper. Luckily for her, Sherlock and Dr Watson were engaged in a most intense discussion. Well, that wasn’t truly the right way of describing it, Sherlock was explaining his deductions and Dr Watson was gasping and interjecting his praises every now and then. Enola had read his accounts of their cases together but had thought that the effusive praise that the good doctor was forever giving her brother was merely to solidify Sherlock’s near godlike public perception but no, he really did act like that. 

Eventually, however, Enola’s waiting was over. But not in the way she had supposed; she had expected either no reply, a letter or at the most a telegram. Instead, Tewksbury himself came to 221B Baker Street. He wasn’t dressed in the fine suits that he usually wore but something a lot more lowkey, so he hadn’t taken his carriage to get there, then. So he had left in secret.  
“Enola,” he said, once they had managed to convince Mrs Hudson to leave them alone unchaperoned. If she knew they were sitting on the same bed together she would have fainted, “I, um, received your message.”  
She flushed fiercely and couldn’t look at him, “And?”  
He cleared his throat, “Is it true?”  
Enola looked up, “The meaning?”  
“Yes, exactly. I know you have some knowledge of flower language but I couldn’t take it for granted so I had to come here and see you. Well, I would have come to see you regardless. I would hear the words out of your own mouth if I could,” by the end of his little speech he had gained some confidence and sounded a lot more like one of the men in those books by Jane Austin than the usual useless boy that he was most of the time.  
“The message is true, I consulted a book to make sure it was correct,” she said after some time, heart hammering in her chest.  
He reached over and took her hand in his, his was larger and covered her own almost completely, “So you figured out why I was so upset at the dinner. I had hoped for some sign of a return of my feelings for you, some small gesture of your affections. When I saw the dress my mind assumed that it was a message for me which, now that I have had time to think on it further, was rather stupid of me.”  
She laughed, still acutely aware of their touching hands, “Indeed. But I hadn’t known that your affections were anything more than the infatuation of one who has been saved from certain peril. But I saw then, with a little accidental help from Sherlock, that your feelings were genuine and I found that I had some return of those feelings myself.”  
“And what are those feelings?” He wheedled.  
“You know perfectly well!” Enola huffed.  
“And even so, I would love to hear them from you.”  
She sighed, gathering courage, “As the red tulip symbolises, I declare my love for you here and now. Even if you are useless and your hair is far too floppy to be borne and-”  
But she was stopped mid sentence by a pair of lips. The kiss was awkward at first, given that he had interrupted her while she was speaking but they soon found themselves moving in sync. A truly joyous thing. Synchronicity without speech. They found themselves lying together on bed, still kissing, when the door to 221B opened. Enola and William sprung apart, gasping with lips red and tingling.  
“Quick!” Enola hissed, “Pick up that book and start reading.”  
She darted over and grabbed a forgotten piece of embroidery that Mrs Hudson made her start but couldn’t convince her to finish. 

They looked, for all the world, like the picture of respectability when Sherlock opened the door and looked in on them. Taking in the dishevelled clothes and red lips of the two, he laughed.  
“Well, I shall have to tell Mycroft that there is a courtship afoot! How you convinced Mrs Hudson to leave you two be I shall never know. But for the sake of your reputation, Enola and for the sake of Mycroft’s constitution we shall have to have a chaperone for you two love birds from now on. Now come on, Marquis, it is rather time that you returned home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Daisy - I love you truly  
> Red tulip -I declare my love
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
